Patti Masterman

Of Cliques And Monopoly - Poem by Patti Masterman

Doesn't everyone have to forgive themselvesFor the half-formed, maladaptive masksThey once wore in youth? In school, I lived for yearsUnderneath a knitted navy blue capeAll through junior high, worn dailyTo disguise newly sprouted breastsAnd complementary curves in other placesThey must have wondered thenIf I had any arms at all, under there? It was a teenage security blanket extraordinaireThank god, the cape finally gave wayBefore high school, under it's relentless use.

By high school, I wanted to defy being labeledTerrified of belonging to one particular sub-groupI lived in a shades-of-blue uniform all year; Steel blue shirts, navy pantsNo bright yelling colors, no makeup..No school uniform could have been stricter-I defied both convention and classificationOnly my hair was unkempt, always in my eyesPart of the covert rebellion perhaps: I was in the army of one.

Since I refused steadfastly to identify with anythingI unwittingly joined ranks with the only group that fit me: The outcasts. At lunch in the cafeteria; we, the dregsOf high school society, sat at the edges of the room; On the very last table; rungs on a ladder going nowhere, And we fit together like a hingeSwinging from side to side, as the doors opened, And more often closed, on our expectations and ambitions: Only one of us went to the promAnd not the one you would have guessed One did drugs sometimes, but none of the others ever admitted to it.I was the closet drinker no one knew about; Always able to keep a secret, no matter whatMy grades were really too high for the outcast group, But therein lay it's beauty: no where else to go.

I never understood that my decision To pledge myself to nobody and nothingExiled me by default, into the group that nobody wanted to be inI have always underestimated the effect of decisionsEverything has always been all or nothing; black or whiteWhich means in monopoly terms, I always had overwhelming Victories and defeatsAnd in my now-habitual role of non-conformist, I have never beenTo even a single high school reunion: Somehow, I think they are not surprised.